Huge Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 3)

“But, Dad, Gar—”

“Fuck, Kel, go inside and put on something decent!”

My eyes fall to the ground as I turn around and head back the way I came. But not before I look one last time over my shoulder at the sexy stranger.

He's still watching me, except now his eyes are different. There's a hint of compassion in his gaze, and a sympathetic arch to his brows. It makes me wonder if he's a dog guy. Or maybe he's just embarrassed for me.

Either way, I can feel the heat in my cheeks and a tightness in my chest. Not only did I just get berated like a child in front of the hottest guy I've ever seen, but I also practically gave him a show. All he needed to do was hit me with a hose and it'd be a wet tee-shirt contest.

My damp feet hit the tiles, making a squish squish sound as I walk through the kitchen.

“Ha ha,” my brother teases. “Dad really gave you an earful.”

Ah, to be a seventeen-year-old boy and not have a care in the world. I want to slap him.

My brother, Seth, gets to live the life, while I get to spend my days trying to live up to the expectations my parents set for me.

Aside from the community garden, the rest of my life is plotted out like a damn map. How I act, how I dress, how I hold myself, my friends.

Luckily, my best friend Millie falls in the rich category. I don't have to worry about their thoughts on her. She fits their idea of an appropriate friend.

“Spying on me again, huh? Still don't have a life of your own yet?”

He purses his lips and mimics me sarcastically. “Still don't have a life. . . Blah blah blah.”

I roll my eyes and decide to search inside some more. Walking back through the living room, I find my mother sitting in that awful chair reading a book.

I cringe at the cover. There's a woman in a tight sexy red dress. The sleeves are slipping down her shoulders, and there's a man holding her from behind. He has long blond hair that looks like it's being blown in the wind. She loves old romance novels from the eighties. So much so, there's an entire bookshelf full of super muscular, long haired men holding women in dresses in our library dedicated to her addiction.

“Hey, Mom, have you seen—” I start to ask, but she cuts me off.

“No, I haven't. Do as your father asked you to do. Go put on something decent. You would think you were raised by people who don't care about appearances. Have some respect for yourself, Kelsie.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know someone else was here. Who is that anyway?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

I really don't want her to hear the curiosity in my voice. The last thing I need right now is another lesson about the right guy to look for. My forced indifference must have been spot on because she answers me without a second thought.

“That's Brand. He started working at your father's shop a couple of days ago. Dad's having him help him with the Ford Fairlane for the car show this weekend.”

Ugh. . . The car show. I forgot that was this weekend.

I've hated the annual car show for as long as I can remember. It's just a bunch of old men all drooling over each other’s cars. It always reeks like gasoline and burnt rubber. I can even taste the rubber from the tires right now just thinking about it.

They all hang around for hours, revving their engines, barking at each other and hooting before they race down the strip. It's boring and smells. That's all I can say.

I take one last fleeting look downstairs, before heading up to my room to get changed. I don't even bother trying to pick out anything. I grab a pair of yoga pants and a pink tank top. After digging in my drawer for a bra, I get dressed and decide that Garlits has to be outside.

He's got to be, that's the only thing that makes sense.

“Mom, I'm going to take a walk around the block. If Garlits turns up, give me a call.”

“Yup,” she says, half listening and half in her book.

I slip my feet into my sandals by the door. When I look up and reach for the handle, I'm surprised to see Brand standing there with a smile on his face, and my dog in his arms.

In one quick pull, I yank the door open. “You found him,” I say excitedly.

Brand ruffles Garlits's head and smirks. The same signature smirk I saw in the driveway. “Yeah, found this little guy sleeping under the toolbox in your garage. He was passed out. I don't think he would have heard you calling him even if you were right in front of him.” He holds him out to me, and I take Garlits in my arms.